The Man

The man who went to Rome alone
And likewise built a house
Is never known to moan and groan,
Much less to gripe and grouse.

He makes his bed from fresh-cut reeds,
Though hardly ever sleeps,
And nature gives him all he needs
And tells him, “That’s for keeps.”

He sits a while on river banks
As well as mountain peaks,
And, though his tongue knows words of thanks,
He only seldom speaks.

And yet he plays on summer lawns
With madcaps, satyrs, elves and fauns.

Photo by Julentto Photography on Unsplash

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